The second worst year of my life was 1979. While I did everything to the best of my abilities and tried to be the best Marine in the squadron, nothing I did could change the prejudgment of the senior NCOs who were trying to get rid of me. In June I would become eligible for a good conduct medal. The ones who hated me without cause were determined to keep me from receiving one.
In February, we set up a day bivouac in a field behind the auxiliary airstrip to practice sending and receiving radio messages and teletype messages over the radios. It was my job to set up, maintain and supervise the field expedient antennae for each HF radio. Our communications squadron would commute to the field every morning and sleep in the bachelor enlisted quarters (BEQ) at night. Those of us who didn’t have vehicles would wait at a shelter near the BEQ for people going to the bivouac site to give us a ride to work. One Thursday morning, every car that stopped had an excuse not to give me a ride. Finally I saw the First Sargent drive past, alone in his car. He pointed at me and laughed, shouting, “I have you now.”
A half hour later, when I was already late for work, a woman and her underage daughter stopped to give me a ride. The woman said her husband was on float and she kept her daughter out of school so the two of them could go out and party. She invited me to join them. They just happened to have a quart of my favorite whiskey, Wild Turkey by Austin Nichols. I said, “No offense, ma’am, but I have to get to work. I would love to party with you after hours. But not just now.”
She said, “Sorry son, it’s now or never.”
I replied, “Ma’am, I am a Marine, first, last and only. I have an appointed place of duty, and I will do my best to be there.” When she heard that, she looked surprised and gave in. She dropped me off at the bivouac site forty-five minutes after I was supposed to be there. The Corporal over my section told me I was in big trouble because I was being charged for desertion. When the charge sheet was finally turned in, I could only be charged with unauthorized absence from an appointed place of duty. I shrugged it off, because if this kind of stuff is accepted in the Marine Corps it wouldn’t survive the next fight, whether on the battlefield or in Congress.
I was brought before the squadron Commanding Officer for Article 15 Office Hours. When he told me the name on the charge sheet I said, “I saw him drive by with an empty car and didn’t stop.” The Colonel dismissed the charges against me and wrote a charge sheet against the First Sargent for disobeying a lawful order by not stopping to give a Marine a ride at the Share-a-Ride station that morning. He paid a fine and had to leave the Marine Corps at the end of his current enlistment. But his vengeance on me would be sooner than that.
In late March I was called into the base hospital for evaluation of the weight standard. My weight on that day was 212 lbs., five pounds over the official weight limit for my height. But the corpsman recording my weight and height tried to measure me two inches shorter than my actual height so I could be discharged for overweight. When I protested enough that my actual height of 73.25 inches had to be recorded he added twenty pounds to my weight, recording me at 232 lbs. The physician attending never looked at the scale nor did he examine me. He merely took the corpsman’s word for it. Most Navy Corpsmen are the best, most conscientious people in any armed service. But the NCO network can always find one corruptible by a case of cheap scotch.
I was discharged on April 9, 1979, and took the bus to Franklin, North Carolina, leaving the service that I loved and planned to spend my life in for the last time. Franklin is a place that anyone who loves Jesus Christ can fit in. I had some trouble finding steady work, but I knew I was home at last.
To be continued….
Ol’ Fuzzy is not employable and was denied for disability benefits. The only thing I have is the blogs. But I don’t qualify for ads on the blogs until September. If you like the scribbles I post, please help me keep it going. You can leave me a gratuity by dropping a buck or two in Ol' Fuzzy's Tip Jar. This is a PayPal account I opened on Wednesday, April 5, 2017.
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